I will sing of myself Tell of my travels How often I endured Bitter breast-care Have seen from my ship Awful welling of waves; On the narrow night-wakes When it crashed into cliffs; Were my freezing feet, In its blighting clutch; Hot around my heart. My sea-weary soul. For the landsman who lives How, sorrowful and sad I eked out my exile ............ Hung about by icicles; There I heard naught The ice-cold surge The note of the gannet The sea-bird's song For the mead-drink of men Storms beat on the cliffs, Icy of feather; The dewy-winged bird. With merciful kindness Of this little can he judge And, settled in the city, And proud and prosperous --- When I wearily wander Night shadows descended; The world was fettered with frost; The coldest of corns.   Which surge in my heart That I test the terrors My soul constantly kindles To fare itself forth To seek the strands There is no one in this world So good in his giving, So daring in his deeds, But that he leaves the land By the grace of God Nor hearkens he to harp Nor in the wiles of a wife Save in the welling of waves But he ever has longing The forests are in flower The woods are in bloom, Everything urges Sends the seeker To try his fortune The cuckoo warns The summer-ward sings, Heavy to the heart. For the man of pleasure, Endure who dare In my bursting breast My spirit sallies Sails o'er the waves, To the bounds of the world Eagerly, longingly; My soul unceasingly Over the waves of the sea. a song that is true, and troublesome days, days of hardship; I have borne as my portion, sorrowful shores, oft on watch I have been at the neck of the ship, with cold often pinched by frost bound tight cares then burned me, Hunger tore within To conceive this is hard on the lonely shore --- on a sea ice-cold, through the awful winter deprived of my kinsmen, hail flew in showers. but the howl of the sea, with a swan-song at times; for gayety served me, for sayings of people, the mew's sad note. 'mid the cry of gulls, and the eagle screamed, No dear friend comes my misery to conquer. who has joy in his life, is sated with wine, how painful it is on the waves full oft! it snowed from the north; hail fell to the earth,   Yet course now desires for the high seas, of the tossing waves; in keenest impatience and far off hence of stranger tribes. so o'erweening in power, so gallant in his youth, so dear to his lord, and longs for the sea. he will gain or lose; nor has heart for gift-treasures, nor in the world rejoices. no whit takes he pleasure; who is lured by the sea. and fair are the hamlets; the world is astir one eager to travel, of seas afar on the terrible foam. in its woeful call; sorrow foretelling, Hard it is to know what many with patience the dangers of exile! now burns my heart, over the sea-floods wide, wanders afar and back at once, the lone-flyer beckons to sail o'er the whale-path,